Help!
by Blackcurrant Bonbons
Summary: John's fetish results in a very startling situation. In the shower. Features: The Beatles, a wet, embarrassed John, and a culturally lost Sherlock. Or at least he appears culturally lost...


_**A/N: Something I cobbled together for CrypticNymph, who I think needs a bit of cheering up! *virtual hugs* This is for you, my lovely! Hope everyone likes!**_

_**Summary: Features The Beatles, a wet, embarrassed John, and a culturally lost Sherlock. Or at least he appears culturally lost... then again, he is a genius!**_

_**Warnings: Hinted slash. *hemhem* Well, I say hinted...**_

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><p><em><span>Help!<span>_

A Sherlock FanFic

by

Blackcurrant Bonbons

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><p>John sighed as the steaming hot water beat against his back, relaxing his muscles and soothing his nerves.<p>

Sherlock was out of 221b, and the strained doctor was taking the time to relax in the absence of childish whining and squawking violin.

'_Not to mention the shit storm of sticky, tense, unresolved sexual tension that is occurring between the pair of you stubborn bastards!'_ The skull interjected. '_Jeez, get together already before my cranium implodes!_ '

John hummed louder.

'_You can't drown out the truth!'_ The skull cried.

_A bulldog._ John thought. _Pets were good. Animated, at least. People talked to their pets. They did not however, talk to skulls._

The humming got louder, and John opened his mouth, allowing his fetish to talk over.

_If Mycroft had CCTV in the bathroom, he was bloody well buggered._

.

.

Sherlock unbuttoned his coat, the howling wind ringing in his stinging red ears. The stairs leading up to 221b posed no problem for his long legs, and he was up the stairs before you could say 'gazelle'.

However, he froze upon closing the door, John distant cries of '_Help'!'_ reaching his ears.

As he sprinted towards the bathroom, he very conveniently blocked out the hissing sound of the shower.

Upon bursting into the bathroom, he encounters a very wet, very _naked_, John.

.

.

John has always been a fan of the Beatles.

"Help! I need somebody! Help! Not just anybody! Hhheeellpp!"

His singing is immediately cut short however, when a certain consulting detective bursts in, slamming open the door.

"John! Are you alright?" He sounds concerned, but there is something in that seductive baritone voice that would suggest otherwise. _But damn it,_ thought John, _the man looks as innocent as an angel._

"SHERLOCK!" John yelled, reprimanding. He had flushed a scarlet red, and he was burning up with all-consuming-flames-of-embarrasment-and-god-damn-it-sherlock-had-to-get-the-fuck-out-NOW.

John prayed to whatever deity was up there that Sherlock would use the ounce of social propriety he owned _right _now.

Of course, the scheming detective had other ideas. He stood stock still, entranced by John.

"John-" Sherlock asked without looking away. _God damn you Sherlock,_ thought John, mentally hissing, _you could at least look me in the eye. I'm not fucking eye candy!_

"Were you singing?"

The baritone voice and those-smouldering-seductive-eyes-of-melted-sin were having severe effects on a certain part of John's anatomy.

He needed Sherlock out, and then a much colder shower setting.

"Yes, I bloody well was, Sherlock! What did it sound like? Now can you get out! Please?" John begged.

His poor heart almost came out of his mouth when Sherlock started to unbutton his shirt.

"Might I join you, John?"

John involuntarily shuddeeds. He was well and truly fucked.

John made a last chance attempt to bullshit his way out of the slowly sinking situation."That would be highly inappropriate Sher-"

"Nonsense. Why waste the water? There's room enough for two, after all."

Sherlock divested himself of his boxers and stepped under the water. John attempted to escape, but was blocked by a very pale, smug looking consulting detective.

"You're not going anywhere." Sherlock purred.

John knees wobbled like jelly and he was very close to melting and swirling down the drain like some-god-damn-twelve-year-old-crush-damn-his-crushed-manliness.

But he still thanked whatever deity was up there for _not_ listening to him.

.

.

That night, a very different kind of music filled the air.

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><p><em><strong>AN: *coughcoughwinkwinkshoveshove***_


End file.
